Chapter 242

Yu Zhaoan's mouth was like it had been blessed.

He said that if he submitted a repentance letter, the old emperor would be overjoyed.

As expected, when the repentance letter was placed before the old emperor, seeing its heartfelt, unadorned, plain words—each line a confession—the emperor's long-shadowed mood finally softened. Sunlight streamed through the cracks, and the old emperor's lips curled slightly into a smile.

Qiu Defu felt as if he'd witnessed a miracle, his heart pounding. This was the sun rising in the west. Since the prison break scandal, the old emperor hadn't smiled once, not even bothering to flip through the palace ladies' name tablets. The eunuchs serving in Taiji Palace had already been replaced twice; if they had to be replaced again, where would they find so many sharp-witted servants?

He smiled!

Good that he smiled!

Yu Zhaoan is a great contributor!

Qiu Defu resolved to seize the right moment and speak well of this Yu Zhaoan.

After training in the Heavenly Prison, the reformed Yu Zhaoan would surely speak beautifully and movingly—far superior to those ranting officials in court.

He also hoped some capable civil official would step forward, shameless and unbothered by dignity, to challenge Jiang Tu for the position of favorite minister. After years of searching, he never expected that former rantsman Yu Zhaoan possessed this very quality.

The Heavenly Prison truly forges men.

"Your Majesty, this Yu Zhaoan—I recall he once served in the Censorate. Shouldn't the Censorate be reformed?" Qiu Defu dared to say.

The old emperor closed the repentance letter, half-closing his eyes as if deep in thought.

Qiu Defu waved his hand, and immediately a young eunuch silently replaced the tea with one at just the right temperature, removing the previous cup.

The old emperor reached out, lifted the teacup, and took a small sip—the temperature was perfect, his favored flavor. After drinking, his mood seemed even better: "Issue an edict: pardon Yu Zhaoan. Bring him to the palace to see me!"

"Yes!"

Qiu Defu's heart leapt with joy, thinking that when he met Yu Zhaoan, he must give him proper advice—not to be a rantsman again. The court didn't lack rantsmen; it lacked ministers who understood the emperor's mind and could ease his burdens.

Why was Jiang Tu favored? Not only because his mouth was as sweet as honey, but because he genuinely helped the old emperor solve problems. The emperor needed money—Jiang Tu fetched it. The emperor wanted someone killed—Jiang Tu willingly became the blade, charging ahead even if branded a traitor.

But Jiang Tu's methods for making money or killing were too crude, provoking heaven's wrath and public hatred. He simply lacked education, narrow-minded, with no brilliant strategist to advise him.

A truly brilliant strategist would never board Jiang Tu's sinking ship.

The edict arrived at the Heavenly Prison soon after.

Yu Zhaoan received the edict with utmost respect. After seeing off the eunuch who delivered it, he waved to Chen Guanlou among the crowd.

Chen Guanlou dismissed the jailers, stepped forward, and bowed: "Congratulations, Master Yu. May your wishes come true and your future be bright."

Yu Zhaoan smiled faintly, lips pressed tight. "I've always said: when it comes to reading the old emperor's mind, I'm unmatched. Jiang Tu? Not even worth mentioning. It's only a matter of whether I'm willing to act. Now I've seen the truth—some tasks can only be done by me."

Chen Guanlou gave a thumbs-up. "You're awesome!"

Hearing this, Yu Zhaoan finally smirked proudly. "Didn't I say before? As soon as I submitted the repentance letter, I'd walk out of prison. Let me ask you one last time: do you want to follow me? I'll get you a clerk's post—money won't be lacking."

Chen Guanlou chuckled. "Thank you for your kindness, Master. But I'll stay here in the Heavenly Prison, waiting for your second visit."

Damn!

A dog's mouth can't spit out pearls.

Though Yu Zhaoan had mentally prepared for a second imprisonment—he'd anticipated this the moment he submitted the repentance letter—he hated hearing it from Chen Guanlou's mouth, as if second imprisonment were his destined fate. Too ominous.

"You—you're good in every way, except for that mouth," Yu Zhaoan grumbled.

Chen Guanlou laughed heartily, unfazed. He opened the cell door himself, led Yu Zhaoan to the side room, ordered hot water and clean clothes, and sent word to the Yu household.

After washing and changing, Yu Zhaoan finally looked human again—cleansed of the prison's stench and spiritual corruption, his spirit brimming, as if ready for battle.

Chen Guanlou couldn't help reminding him: "Take it easy. Physician Mu said your leg needs careful care—no standing too long, moderate exercise daily, no martial arts for now. His medicine is excellent—it healed your broken leg, saved you from lameness. Hey, why did the Marquis's eldest son end up lame? He should've gotten better treatment."

He couldn't understand.

The eldest son's leg had broken when he fell from his horse during a hunt. Though healed, the injury left a permanent disability.

Surely, the Marquis's leg injury couldn't have been worse than Yu Zhaoan's original one. Yet the Marquis remained crippled, while Yu Zhaoan—a prisoner—was healed. True, he still limped, but that was only a matter of time.

Yu Zhaoan said something profound: "Often, the Heavenly Prison is the safest place. Consider this: perhaps someone doesn't want him fully restored. A crippled Pingjiang Marquis is far more reassuring."

Chen Guanlou was startled. He'd wondered if the Marquis's grandmother had secretly tampered with his medicine.

Now, from Yu Zhaoan's words, the Marquis's disability came from someone higher up. Who else? Only the one in the palace.

"So feared?" he whispered.

Yu Zhaoan sneered. "This generation of noble families has few who can fight, and fewer still who win. Your master stands alone at the top. Back then, among nobles his age, all others subtly looked to him as their leader. His circle needed only five or eight more years to build influence—unimaginable power in court. Do you think the emperor wouldn't fear that?"

"But… isn't that cutting off one's own wings?" Chen Guanlou said.

Yu Zhaoan's gaze was full of disdain—as if mocking the man's naivety. "It's only a broken leg, not death. He doesn't need to charge into battle himself. He only needs to command from the central camp. Even if both legs were gone, it wouldn't hinder his command."

That made perfect sense!

Chen Guanlou had no reply.

"Aren't you afraid he'll harbor resentment?"

"Even if he resents it—what can he do? Rebel?" Yu Zhaoan smiled slyly. "Look at me. I'm the best example. In the end, I still had to bow my head, beg for his favor, beg for a future. He wants submission—from his ministers. Especially from defiant ones. Their submission pleases him most."